


Just Like Doris Day

by creepymura



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: There's only one way to stop someone from running.





	Just Like Doris Day

**Author's Note:**

> second person, from waylon's pov

_ "When I was just a little boy..." _

 

When your eyes finally opened, the first thing that hit you was the smell. 

The air, thick with the putrid smell of blood and gore, grime and rust. Enough to make you retch, though all you managed to puke up was a foul splatter of burning stomach bile. Only added to the disgusting smells that surrounded you already.

Added to the twisting pain in your body, the burning at the back of your throat.

It felt like hell. 

Like you had travelled so deep into the asylum that you were past the point of any kind of return, too far gone to even try and save.

 

_ "I asked my mother, what will I be..." _

 

The pain is the second thing that you noticed.

Immeasurable pain, pain that you couldn't even hope to fathom before all of this happened. A deep aching that shook you to your very core, making you cover your bile stained lips quickly just so you wouldn't hear the wreaked sob you let out when you could finally feel it.

Tears streaked down your cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the pain to go away.

The elevator, the wooden spoke through your ankle, the fact that you couldn't even have a moment to tend to yourself before you were running again.

The fact that he'd caught you anyway.

 

_ “Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?” _

 

You could still hear the screams of men around you.

Your fellow patients, inmates, monsters, whatever this fucked up place had reduced you all down to.

You couldn't even will yourself to really be angry about any of it, even though you wanted to be angry, so, so desperately.  

You were too nice. Lisa always told you that. Wore your heart on your sleeve, let your empathy run your brain.

Maybe if you hadn't let your empathy get in the way of things, you wouldn't be in a situation like this. You would have run faster, fought back, done something that wasn't acting like a poor bruised damsel in distress desperate to be looked after.

No wonder he'd taken an interest in you.

 

_ “Here’s what she said to me…”  _

 

He grabbed your ankle hard, and the teeth of the bone saw are almost immediately cutting through the leg of your jumpsuit and into the meat of your thigh before you even had a moment to react.

You screamed, louder than you ever had before, and try to lurch back, away from him. But the grip he has on you is stronger than a vice, he barely seemed bothered as you squirmed and writhed above him. Humming to himself, like this was an everyday activity for him

Blood soaked through your trouser leg, even more than when the spoke drove through your ankle.

So much blood.

So much fucking blood.

 

_ “Que sera, sera…” _

 

You couldn't stop screaming, and yet he would barely react.

Sobbing, tears stinging the various cuts and scrapes on your face, smearing blood further down your face. You could hear yourself begging, pleading, stop, stop, please, I'll do whatever you want, just PLEASE-!

It felt like dying.

In a way, you would have preferred if you had died.

You wouldn't have to live like this, live through whatever was in store for you.

You didn't even want to imagine.

You managed to vomit down your front again, and it hurts even more than last time. Making you cry just a little bit harder as you looked away, desperate not to look.

The saw ripped through your bone with a sickening crunch.

 

_ “Whatever will be, will be…” _

 

Screaming would do nothing to deter him, but you can't help but keep trying anyway. 

You couldn't pull away though. He was too strong and your body already felt like it was going to give out just from moving for a second. Hope drained out of you almost as quickly as your blood drained, and you felt your head get heavier and heavier as he persisted.

Maybe fainting would have been better. You wouldn't have to see any of this, listen to his pleased humming, the sound of the blade through your leg. 

But you'd have to wake up. And what to?

You thought of your wife. You thought of your children.

You wanted so desperately to die.

 

_ “The future’s not ours to see…” _

 

He only has to give the dangling limb a good pull before the last shred of skin snapped and your leg fell to the scum spotted floor with a deafening thud.

You couldn't scream, though you desperately wanted to.

You could only lay back on the crude excuse of an operating table and silently sob as he carefully (so now he's careful) wound stained bandages around your now endlessly bleeding stump, fingers almost delicate as he looked up at you. 

His expression as warm and loving as he could possibly manage.

Your stomach twists again. You want to be sick, to show him just how disgusting you could be.

 

_ “Que sera, sera…” _

 

"Don't cry, my love." He says, almost kindly, and maybe in any other kind of situation, it would have been soft, warm, reassuring. Would have given you maybe a feeling of hope.

But when you heard it from him, it was so despairing, all you could do was weep even more. 

When he stood to his feet again, walking to where your head lay, your eyes squeezed shut, whimpering sobs slipping past your lips. He sighed sympathetically, his hand stroking through your hair, to the tangled blood soaked mess that pooled down your shoulders, and he almost looks remorseful.

"I know, I know it hurts awfully. I couldn’t have you running away again though." He coos, gently (or as gently as he can manage) urging your shoulders up and sitting behind you, allowing your exhausted body to lay against his chest.

Picturesque for a couple, really. 

"But a woman must suffer for her husband. You understand that, don't you?"

His hands circled around your stomach, curling tight and holding you close, possessively. Scarred lips against the back of your neck, kissing your skin. Affectionate, in the most twisted of ways.

"You're so, so close to perfect, darling. I'll make you perfect. I promise."

 

_ “What will be, will be…” _

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this song in my head for like a week and it just gives me them vibes. also when i asked someone to read this for me they said it made them sick, so that's probably a plus
> 
> i love this ship throw me in the fucking garbage
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


End file.
